Finally, a normal winter in Missouri

The past two winters have been rough ones.  Lots of snow, single-digit temperatures that would not let up. That isn't normal.  Usually we'll have a couple of two- to four-inch snows in a winter, and several times when the ground will be barely covered; around here, it's hardly worth investing in a sled for the kiddies.  There will normally be a few frigid days followed by a warmup into the fifties or sixties:  That's when those of us with motorcycles will sneak in a ride and say we cheated winter.  Of course, on those unseasonably warm winter days, the same wind that blew the warm front in is often still blowing so hard that a motorcycle ride isn't that pleasant, so we make it a brief ride.  
During the past two winters there were no motorcycle rides; not a single one.  
Right now it's a frigid fifteen degrees with a forecast high of thirty-seven; there's a promise of temperatures in the fifties in a couple of days.  
A normal winter.  
For the past three years, at some point in January I've bought little seed-starting kits and started my pepper and tomato plants in the house.  The first year it was great fun.  The second year, it was OK.  Last year it was drudgery, toting those trays around the house to the best sunny spot.  
I had a reason for doing it, though.  Most of the places where I had always bought my plants no longer had the economical little six-packs.  Walmart and Colonial Nursery only had single plants or two-packs of half-grown plants, and they were pricey.  
Last year I discovered that Hilltop Farm and Greenhouse was selling the six-plant packs.  I'm counting on them this year, so I hope they don't let me down.  I'm hoping for a better garden than I had last year.  What with the knee replacement and a bad tomato season, it was pitiful.  I think I only had borscht one time, and no ratatouille at all.   

I opened a drawer yesterday looking for an owner's manual for a clock (long story) and found these yellowed old spelling tests from 1997.  My oldest grandson came to my house after school back then, and I went over his spelling words with him ever single day.  He got a lot of good spelling grades during that time.  He's supposed to be here today; I'm going to ask him if he remembers how I made him practice his words till he got them right.  


I ought to have a good day today; for the first time in months, I slept straight through the night for seven hours.  

Assorted ramblings

My friend Joanna mentioned on Facebook this morning that she wished she had room service so she wouldn't have to get up and make coffee.  I told her Cliff has had room service for years; he always drinks his first cup or two of coffee in bed.  Last week I even gave him a bell to ring, because when he's in bed and I'm in the computer room with the furnace running nearby, I can't hear his feeble morning voice letting me know he's awake.  


This is the week Cliff's Social Security shows up in our bank account, and I am almost trembling with excitement!  The only Dave Ramsey envelope that has any money left in it is the dog-and-cow envelope:  It's a sad day when my dog has more spending money that I do.  I wiped out our clothing envelope by buying shoes and a coat last month.  I think this is the first time that particular envelope has ever been completely empty; we don't spend a lot of money on clothes.  (Those who know me in real life, or who have paid close attention to pictures of me on this blog, are saying, "We know; we could tell.")
Cliff will work four ten-hour days this week, which is going to seem strange.  I don't know if I can remember how to properly assemble a lunch for him to take to work.  Actually, I rather dread it.
I'm hooked on John Sandford books.  I've always liked the CSI shows on television, and Sandford's "Prey" books are a lot like that, only with more suspense and quite a bit of downright fear!
The grandson was here yesterday to check on his wildlife camera.  Last week he drove his jeep down into our deepest canyon with no trouble at all, so he figured there wouldn't be a problem doing it again.  Unfortunately, the little bit of snow on the ground changed things for him and he ended up stuck at the bottom of our deepest canyon.
Heather, his girl friend, was with him when they slid down the hill; he wanted her to sit in the Jeep and steer it while he winched the Jeep up, using chains wrapped around a tree.  It sounded to me and Heather like a recipe for disaster; I told him to wait until Cliff arrived home from Kansas, but he wanted to do it himself.
Heather wanted no part of Arick's plan, so he woke up Tyler, our neighbor, and enlisted his help.  Their efforts were successful.





Thanks to Heather for taking my camera with her and being the photographer.  I can't stand to watch stuff like that; it makes me a nervous wreck.  
This isn't Arick's first rodeo.  Almost five years ago he got in a much worse mess with his truck; you can read about it HERE.  
Oh, Cliff sold the 550 Oliver to a long-time friend.  When he sells a tractor to someone he knows, he always gives them a month to use it and decide if they really want it.  So it's sold unless Don changes his mind.  Cliff's tractor fund is looking pretty good lately!

One less deer to tear up my electric fence

Grandson Arick got his deer yesterday evening.  It has a strange set of antlers:  three points on one side, five on the other.  So it doesn't make a perfect trophy.  Since Cliff is an experienced butcher, he went ahead and skinned it for him.  The butcher shop closed before they got it done, so they quartered it and put it in trash bags for Arick to put in his freezer overnight.  Silly boy left his deer tag at home, so it's a good thing the deer police weren't around, ready to pounce.

That was our evening's excitement.  It took Arick and Cliff forever to get the beast back to the house.  After being shot, the deer had jumped the fence and run along the railroad track behind our place, putting quite a bit of distance between himself and our property before he died.  So he had to be dragged quite a way through weeds and muck.  There's no way to get a vehicle into that area.  Once they got him on our property, the tractor bore the prize home.  

Thursday Cliff's older brother, Phil, came for a work-day.  Every once in awhile they get together at our place or Phil's and help one another with whatever needs doing.  Cliff had a disk in need of repair, so they fixed that.  After I fed them cheeseburgers and snickerdoodles, they went to the back of the place and got some wood up that Cliff will use to heat his shop this winter.  

The farmer who found Cliff's ad on Craigslist for the Oliver fenders came to pick them up that day.  Iris was curious about the dog in the back of his truck.  

Cliff had the fenders painted and secured on a pallet, ready to go.  (I'm seeing a smudge on this picture; I just recently replaced a camera that put a smudge on every picture.  I certainly hope this one is on the outside and will wipe off!)  

The farmer's friend drooled all over Cliff's 1855.  

This guy has three tractors for Cliff to paint, if he should ever decide to do that for extra cash.  He also has some Steiger tractors:  He said he'd be willing to teach Cliff how to operate them and turn him loose in the field.  Cliff saw those beasts; they are so big they dwarf the 1855.   
It's been an eventful couple of days, and the weekend is just getting started.  
Oh, we heard nothing from the man in Iowa, so I still have "my" tractor.  Cliff plans to paint it before long, and then the guy will be out of luck if he decides he wants it, unless he wants to pay a much higher price.  

The grandson's house

Before Cliff got started messing around with the Oliver yesterday, we went to our little town to take a saw to the oldest grandson.  He's renting-to-own a house there, and he has quite a cleanup job ahead of him.  

The place sat idle for several years, and there are fallen limbs everywhere.  A neighbor told Arick yesterday that everyone around had been piling their limbs in that yard for a long time, which explains how many there were.  

The house is old, and the boy has his work cut out for him.  There's an old cistern in the yard that must be either filled, covered, or fenced around.  Trees need to be trimmed.  The house has a new roof, so that's one thing Arick won't have to worry about.  He had a lawyer check the contract before he moved in, and everything is on the up-and-up.  We feel the price is right:  it's less than you'd pay for some new high-end vehicles these days.  

This was the first of several loads of limbs Arick hauled out to our ditch.  
I seriously envy him the celler inside his basement.  The house is on a nice, quiet street across the road from a "Missouri Century Farm".  
Here's hoping it all works out for our grandson.  It won't truly be his until he becomes the owner.

Sometimes it works

A couple of years ago, my oldest grandson was down on his luck and needed someplace to crash until he could recoup.

I told him he could stay with us; at first I gave him a time limit; later, I extended the limit.

There were conditions: he had to do his own laundry; he had to give me $25 a week to help with expenses; and he had to put a designated amount of money in the savings account we opened up together.

I wasn't easy on the boy. He knew he couldn't just up and quit a job he hated, because he knew he'd have to answer to Grandma. In fact, Grandma was looking over his shoulder quite a bit.

I watched him do stupid things like THIS.

Less than a year later Arick moved out into a place of his own. He's had some rocky times since then, and others have given him a break. But he hasn't had to crash here any more.

I've assumed he had bad memories of the way I reined him in.

He and his sister were here yesterday and we got into a discussion about money. I allowed as how I wasn't that easy for a young person to live with, what with my demands and all.

Arick objected to that. "When I was staying here, I had so much fun! I had money all the time, even when I was only making $300 a week."

I mentioned how I forced him to save some money each week.

"Oh yeah, that was great!"

Huh?

Well then. Maybe it wasn't all for nothing.

family bonding

A visit from the oldest grandson

That's the oldest grandson; those of you who have followed my blog for awhile remember how he lived with us for almost a year. He still comes by once in awhile: I've decided he has some sort of radar that tells him when I've cooked enough to make the trip out here worth his while.

This morning I made about a gallon of hamburger stew. At the time I thought, "Cliff and I may get tired of this before it's gone."

I needn't have worried. Arick arrived and had a couple big bowls of it for breakfast, then a couple more bowls for dinner. And managed to drink half a gallon of tea. I had forgotten how that boy eats! I guess since he's twenty-three years old, I should quit calling him a boy, shouldn't I?

I'm not complaining about his food consumption, mind you. It's always good to see him.

At least there was enough stew left for Cliff to take some to work this evening.

Oh, in that picture? He was laughing because of me taking his picture. In case you wondered, that's my purse. Arick doesn't carry one.

I see he still likes to keep both the remote and his cell phone close at hand.

The grandson is moving out

In June of last year, our oldest grandchild came to stay with us temporarily. He was down on his luck, and I told him he could stay here until he got back on his feet. I gave him a deadline: Be out by the end of July.

He helped Cliff put hay in the barn. He did his own laundry and gave me a token amount of money to help with expenses.



Since I'm a coward when it comes to breaking horses, he was the first person to actually ride Libby, my filly.


He was pretty rough on his pickup sometimes...

... which is why he made use of Cliff's shop so often.

Well, he turned out not to be much of a problem to me, and he wasn't even around all that much. Besides, his job started going sour and they cut his hours so that he wasn't bringing in much money to stash away for hard times. I told him to stay as long as he needed to.

He got a second job in November, and I saw him like this a lot.

He's now working at a new job that pays well and gives him lots of overtime (probably more than he wants). He and a buddy have made a security deposit on a town house. At long last he's moving out.

I'm going to miss that boy.

The grandson

Perhaps the previous entry seemed as though I was complaining about the grandson; I was not. I don't mind having him here.

He had some issues in his life last spring (involving a female) and needed a place to stay. In June, I told him he could crash here until the end of July; that would give him time to save up some money for a place to live. I gave him few rules: 1. Don't expect me to cook for you. (Cliff works evenings, so our main meal is at noon... grandson worked days at that time). 2. Give me $25 a week, mainly as a token so I don't feel too taken advantage of. 3. Save some money. I don't intend to let you live here just so you can party away your paycheck.

Except for some incidents when he was seemingly trying to tear up the pickup we co-signed for (he's always made his payments regularly), things went fine. So when his deadline rolled around, I told him he could stick around longer.

Actually, I don't see him that much. Weekends he goes someplace (I don't ask; he's twenty-two years old, and I told him when he came here that he didn't have to report in).

I did add one more rule when he started looking on Craigslist for a motorcycle: No motorcycle while you're living here, unless it's a dirt bike. For one thing, such a purchase would eat up his savings, and I want him to have that on hand to secure a place of his own in the future. But mainly, I don't want to have to worry about him.

Since Cliff and I have a motorcycle, this may seem hypocritical. But I know how recklessly young men drive; add to this the fact that the grandson only has vision in one eye. I just don't need the worry. I told him he's welcome to move out and buy anything he wants. I won't worry so much then, because I won't know each time he's out on his bike. He commented that he doesn't have the money to move out and get a motorcycle. Well then, my boy, keep saving your money.

He's had some job problems, and had to work at two part-time jobs lately to stay afloat. But he's saved up a tidy nest egg, and is still adding to it (not that he has a choice).

Next week he'll start a new job, one that eventually should pay quite well.

He's learned a lot in the past few months: 1. Women can't always be trusted to be faithful. 2. Sometimes you have to work two jobs to make ends meet. 3. It's a good feeling to have money in savings, even if you've been forced by Grandma to put it there. 4. Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in (thanks to Robert Frost for that one).

That latter reminds me of a time when Grandson was about four years old and was visiting here. I was upstairs laying in bed planning on taking a nap; he climbed the stairs, snuggled down beside me and said, "Home sweet Grandma's home."

He has some credit issues I'd really like to see resolved, but I'm not forcing him to fix them. Sometimes young people are better off without being able to secure credit. They can't go out and get themselves in debt over their heads that way!

So that's the story on the grandson. Lately, he's done a fine job of staying out of trouble... so far as I know.

And what I don't know, won't hurt me.

Wordless Wednesday: Removing a spark plug

It's a good thing my grandson is skinny. Yes, he is UNDER the hood of his truck.

For more Wordless Wednesday entries, go HERE.

The grandson, temporary resident here

Grandson Arick is twenty-one years old. He was sharing digs with another young bachelor for several months, until he returned home unexpectedly one night and found his girl friend in his roommate's arms. He would have stuck it out there anyhow... after all, living expenses are high, and at least they were splitting rent and utilities. But the ex-girl friend started stealing his stuff. I told him he could crash here until he got things together, if he'd chip in $25 a week toward the household expenses and not to expect me to cook for him in the evenings when Cliff's at work. I try to cook low-fat and healthy for Cliff and myself, and I didn't want to have to cook two separate meals all the time. He's welcome to buy any frozen stuff he wants and put it in the deep freeze. Or eat whatever he can scrounge out of the refrigerator and cupboards.

He does his own laundry (rather poorly, but that's not my problem) and he's very careful not to wake me if he comes in late.

He's of age, and I told him he doesn't have to tell me where he's going or when he'll be back.

It's working all right, so far. Some weekend nights he doesn't come home. This week, he didn't show up for two nights straight during the week. It seems he has a new love interest who was house-sitting in the city, and she was afraid to be alone there.

"That sounds convenient," I said.

"Oh, very convenient," he answered.

So I asked him, "Hey, are you moving out?"

"Not unless you're making me," he answered.

This current girl friend likes to cook for him; so he comes home from work, showers, and leaves; sometimes he comes back here to sleep, sometimes not. Hey, at this rate I'll keep his weekly room rent at $25. I had originally planned to double it the end of this month.

He does live on the edge... like the time he got his truck stuck, for instance. Or last Sunday, when he called to say he'd run out of gasoline less than a mile down the road. My husband deals with such incidents, and doesn't seem to mind. I'm learning not to think too much about it. If such antics don't bother Cliff, the guy who has to go help him, why should I care? There was one little thing that shook Cliff up a bit, but that turned out to be a false alarm.

So far, so good.

What do country boys do on Saturday night?

They drive trucks in the recently-flooded Missouri River bottoms and get stuck.







Grandpa to the rescue.


(Click on any pictures to see them larger.)

I'm NOT an evening person....

But the grandson came out after work this evening, wanting to know if I could ride with him again.

"Yes," I told him rather reluctantly, "if the granddaughters are gone by six."

They were, so Arick and I once again hit the roads on horseback. This time we rode to the Missouri River bottoms. Chief, the horse he's breaking, is still a little leery of cars passing on the highway. But he seems to enjoy his job of being a saddle horse. He insisted on keeping up with Blue, which is no easy task. It's hard for a trotting horse to stay even with a gaited horse. Chief's ears were up all the time, and he was obviously having fun.

And to think that I pronounced him a lost cause, only a month ago.

I'm learning to like this boy. Now that it's almost time for him to go home to his owners.

Riding with my grandson

That's my grandson riding Chief, a horse he's breaking for some people; he had just been thrown by the horse before I took this picture in March.

After more than a month, I have to admit the horse is behaving pretty darned well. We rode through fields and along the highway with cars and motorcycles buzzing by, and he only spooked a couple of times.


When we got back home after a couple hours of riding, I asked Cliff to take pictures of us.